Page 105 of Wild Oblivion

“You can say that again."

"I lost everything. All of it. The bank was going to foreclose on the house next month. I had to do something.”

"What you did was get people killed."

Ashton shook his head. "I didn't have anything to do with that. Cam made all those bombs on his own. I just gave him information.”

"Where can I find him?"

"I don't know.”

"Look, we've got all of your phone records. I know every time you talked to him. I want to know where you met, everything he might have said, and any details that might help."

"We met at a club once. Proletariat, I think." Frazzled, Ashton continued to search his memory. "I went to his boat one time.”

"Boat?”

"Yeah, he's got a nice yacht at Sandpiper Point. At least, I think it was his. You never know these days. Everybody's full of shit, up to their eyeballs in debt."

"What's the name of the boat?”

57

Rotor blades swirled overhead as we flew out over the water in Tango One.

Teal waves crashed against the shore below, and the island grew small behind us as we headed out to sea.

Isabella had worked her magic. TheDominionwas registered under multiple shell companies in the Cayman Islands, making identification of the practical owner difficult. The ship’s AIS had been active when it left port, then the vessel went dark as it headed east.

Isabella had given me the last known coordinates.

I had no doubt the scumbag was trying to get beyond state waters and preferably reach international seas. The county had jurisdiction up to 3 miles offshore on the Atlantic side. Beyond that, the feds could handle it up to 12 miles, and could board a US flagged boat anywhere in the world. But this boat was flagged out of the Cayman Islands. I wanted to catch this guy before he crossed over.

Decked out with tactical gear, M4s, extra magazines, flash bang grenades, smoke canisters, and all the other goodies, JD and I were ready to dispense a little justice. Erickson and Faulkner joined us in the cargo area of the helicopter. We raced across the water as the amber sun angled toward the horizon behind us.

The Coast Guard and other federal agencies had been notified. Newport wouldn't get far, but I wanted first dibs. I didn't care whose investigation it was.

It didn't take long to spot a speck on the horizon, carving through the blue water.

As we drew near, theDominioncame into view—a sleek 175-foot superyacht with windswept lines, a navy hull, Arctic trim, and all the trappings of luxury. A sleek black helicopter sat perched on the foredeck.

Tango One closed in, and the pilot, Mike, circled the vessel for a reconnaissance pass.

That drew the attention of several armed thugs on board.

I shouted over the loudspeaker, "Dominion, this is the Coconut County Sheriff's Department. Heave to and prepare to be boarded!”

I repeated the command a few times, but they had no intention of slowing down.

That's when a guy emerged from the salon onto the starboard side deck with an RPG-7. He shouldered the rocket launcher and took aim.

My eyes widened at the sight. That kind of thing will make your ass pucker.

With the squeeze of the trigger, the rocket blasted from the launcher, hissing with fury. The death dart screamed through the air, racing toward Tango One.

We all braced for impact.

Mike pulled hard on the controls, banking the craft away, trying to avoid certain disaster.